


Friendly Advice

by Evil_Little_Dog



Series: Treed [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gift Fic, Missing Scene, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Edward's upset; Roy decides to find out why.  Because he's bored. <br/>Disclaimer:  Don't I wish I was writing something in this verse and making money off of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bob_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob_fish/gifts).



> This story takes place in the hospital during the recovery after the Promised Day. It also takes place in the same universe as [Up A Tree](http://archiveofourown.org/works/379315) and [Not Three of a Kind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/491429), but timewise, falls between the two stories. 
> 
> Note: All three fics could be considered stand-alone as well, and it isn't necessary for you to read all of them to enjoy each separately.

Roy knew he was taking his sanity in his own hands, but he had to ask. “What is it, Fullmetal?”

“I told you not to call me that. I’m not an alchemist any more, and I’ve already signed the papers to leave the military.” 

From the petulant note in the younger man’s voice, that definitely wasn’t the problem. Roy blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. Dr. Marcoh had warned him it would probably be up to ten days before his sight was returned to the clarity he’d had prior to his encounter with Truth. 

Day three was a bitch. 

Almost as bad as dealing with a discontent teenaged boy. 

“That doesn’t mean that something isn’t _wrong._ ” Roy wasn’t sure why he pressed, even more than he wasn’t sure why Edward was in his recovery room. Hawkeye had been wheeled away for further exams on the healing wound in her neck (or the doctors wanted to ooh and ahh over alkahestry, Hawkeye’d warned him she didn’t know which it was, but as the little Xingese girl had been spirited away with Yao Ling, it would be difficult for the doctors to question her), leaving him bored – until Edward made his appearance in his wheelchair. Which begged the question, where was Alphonse? Edward generally didn’t leave his brother’s side – unless he’d possibly taken him away, too; maybe to physical therapy? Whatever the reason, Edward had deposited himself in Roy’s room, and seemed even more snappish and curt than normal – though, oddly, more introspective. “Obviously, you came here for a reason, Edward, which makes me think that Alphonse cannot assist you in this matter.” 

Edward jerked – a direct hit. “He _ought_ to -” The bluster faded almost as soon as it started raging, and he slumped in his wheelchair. “Yeah,” Edward mumbled, so softly Roy had to strain to hear him, “you’re right. Something is wrong.” 

Hoping it had nothing to do with Alphonse, and his health – which was a subject of great concern to nearly everyone – doctors, nurses, interns, the military, the Curtises, and probably people who weren’t even in the hospital, much less Central City – Roy knew the little Xingese girl had feelings for Edward’s little brother, and then there was the matter of those friends the brothers had made while traveling, not to mention the people in Risembool, waiting for them to come home. “It isn’t Alphonse,” he said tentatively, and relief spread throughout his tensing body at Edward’s snort.

“Al’s doing great,” he said, somewhere between proud and amazed. “Considering his muscles atrophied and everything – he’s lucky he didn’t have organ damage from wasting.” There was a hint of self-loathing in that last part that lingered for a bit. “But he’s going to be fine. He’s already put on a lot of weight, and his therapist is amazed at what he can do already.” The pride came back. 

“That is excellent news,” Roy said, meaning it. He flexed his hands reflexively. Dr. Marcoh had also used the Philosopher’s Stone to heal his hands – the tendons had been almost completely destroyed, and being forced to use his fingers for alchemy had taken their toll on them as well. But it had either been do that, or die; and Roy had things he wanted to accomplish yet for Amestris. Mentally shaking those thoughts away, he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. “So, if it isn’t Alphonse, what is it?” He speculated. “Your friend has left Amestris to return to Xing with the Philosopher’s Stone to present to his Emperor – is that it?” 

A twitch – not quite as good of a guess this time, but close. “You miss him?” 

Edward snarled, “He’s my friend, of course I miss him.” The fire wasn’t quite as intense as usual, though. 

“Ah,” Roy said, smiling, “did you develop feelings for the Xingese prince? Edward, that is a natural thing, nothing to be ashamed - ”

“No! Ling’s my friend,” Edward snapped, and there, yes, there was the fire again. “We went through a lot together!”

“Yes, I suppose you did.” Edward had been somewhat reticent regarding all of that, and Roy, while he could push for a report, decided not to. There would probably be drinking stories plenty once everyone was healed, whole and well. “Well, if it isn’t Yao Ling’s departure,” because he couldn’t resist twisting the knife a little more, just to hear Edward squirm, “what is it?”

“Al and I, we’re going home soon.” 

Roy wished he could clearly see Edward’s expression, because he hadn’t heard that particular note in the younger man’s voice before – never. Somewhat reverent, somewhat nervous. He wondered why he knew it. “And?”

“And that bastard Ling will probably go through Risembool on his way to the Eastern Desert!” Edward spat out, and Roy could tell he bristled up at the idea. 

“It is the most efficient way to cross the desert. Stopping in Risembool will allow his party time to stock up on food and water before - ”

“I know that!” Edward snapped. “I’ve been there, remember? You _sent_ me there.” The word ‘asshole’ remained unsaid, but Roy was sure he could hear it in the air through the sheer force of Edward’s will. “And it’s the way I’d go, if I had to cross the desert,” he said, though that was considerably lower in pitch, and Roy almost had to strain to hear it. 

Something clicked and Roy leaned forward, not bothering to hide the stupid smirk arching the corners of his mouth. “And your mechanic is in Risembool, isn’t she? Hiding out?” 

Another twitch, and Edward growled, “That bastard proposed to her!” 

“And you think she’d accept?” 

“He’s a prince! Why wouldn’t she?” 

Roy sighed, wondering if this was how Aunt Chris had felt, when he’d come home, worried about his lovers. Maes and Riza, and the way things affected them, and in turn, him. He wondered briefly if Edward was still a virgin, then decided not to think about that very long. That way madness lay. “Edward, do you trust this girl?” 

“Yes.” The intense, almost dangerously low sound belted out of his mouth. 

“Do you trust Yao?”

“With her? No farther than I could throw him.” 

Something was missing from that answer, Roy thought, and remembered Edward had two flesh hands now. The creaking of an automail hand being fisted was one he wouldn’t hear in regard to the Fullmetal Alchemist again. “Well, your way is clear, then.”

“Clear how?” Edward cocked his head. 

“You have to propose to her yourself.” Roy hesitated. “Unless you think the prince would share, then you could each have her, and each other and - ”

Ah, yes, the steamwhistle response. Roy grinned to himself, listening to Edward’s screamed protests. Funny, he thought, he’d miss them once Edward was actually retired. 

Best goad him into as many repeat performances as he could until the day the boy left Central, then.


End file.
